During the first
day of Creation, God created space. God lifted the light out of the
darkness and sent photons flying in all directions, creating an
ever-expanding sphere to be filled with things that are not God.

Jim FisherJimFisherHome@att.netmakingspace1https://sites.google.com/feeds/content/site/holyhugs/90752984359305630262016-03-10T16:55:44.264Z2016-03-10T16:55:44.267Z2016-03-10T16:55:44.261ZYahrzeit - A Year's Time

The Jewish community embraces ancient,
profoundly healthy, traditions and sacred obligations surrounding
the death of a family member and the ones grieving the death. Concentric
protections shield the bereaved from the intense storms of a death,
through the funeral, and gradually back into life. The layers of
support not only honor the one who died, but also honor and support
life.

Jim FisherJimFisherHome@att.netyahrzeit-ayearstime1https://sites.google.com/feeds/content/site/holyhugs/50571596115298979112016-03-10T16:39:15.073Z2016-03-10T16:39:15.075Z2016-03-10T16:39:15.071ZHead to the Light, Dad

Eighteen … nineteen … twenty.

Phew! There! What
great a workout for an old geezer like me. Feels good. It's my "ski
lift" workout. I lay on my back on the carpet
and lift myself to a standing position using only a pair of ski
poles, then lay myself back down and repeat. It gives me some confidence
that I can stand back up if I catch an edge while skiing and wipe out
like I did last weekend. I used to be able to do more than twenty, but
that will have to do for now.

Jim FisherJimFisherHome@att.netheadtothelightdad1https://sites.google.com/feeds/content/site/holyhugs/46213127384735196732014-02-27T03:10:27.287Z2014-02-27T03:12:28.197Z2014-02-27T03:12:26.926ZProspering the Work of Our Hands

I picture Moses up on
Mount Nebo knowing he is about to die. He is resting on a rock ledge,
back against an ancient, scrubby tree overlooking the valley below with the Jordan and the Dead Sea off
in the distance. It is evening. He is watching the sun set.

I have been praying for one word to
guide me through this year of growth and the one that kept coming to
mind was “connect”. That word ties my empathy, adaptability, and
connectedness together into a neat and tidy bow colored by my core
strengths. It seemed appropriate and comfortable.

Maybe too
comfortable.

Just now, a new word came: Allow.

Really? You mean like letting go?
Giving up control?

Like being dropped on the back of a spirited horse and letting her steer?

One Autumn, I
was biking in the darkness of the very early morning heading directly
into a setting harvest moon at its fullest. As it approached the
horizon, it was clothed in cold bluish white and silver gradually
warming to creamy yellows and toasty golds. It seemed to grow larger and larger
and come closer and closer as I cycled along quiet, deserted streets and
bikeways. In its last moments, it exploded into fiery oranges and reds
as the sun rose behind me and took its place as a new source of light in
a crystalline dawn. I felt something that cannot be described
but is a "hushed awe" experience I am sure is shared by many.

Jim FisherJimFisherHome@att.netiforgiveyou2https://sites.google.com/feeds/content/site/holyhugs/66643011692115930672013-02-14T19:21:30.543Z2013-02-14T19:21:30.546Z2013-02-14T19:21:30.540ZGiving Up

Phew! What a journey this is! I need to
take a detour off this trail, plop myself on the beach up ahead
beyond the edge of the trees. I need to take off my shoes and dig my
toes and my sit-bones into the warm sand. Dear Lord, rest my soul,
rest my body. I need a break.More

A boy, not much older than a toddler,
is sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk in front of his house,
staring at a crack in the cement. As I approach him from the end of
the block, I slow my pace so as not to interrupt whatever has
captivated his attention.

I have a very vivid memory as a kid
laying flat on my back in the orchard in our front yard late at night
immersed in awe staring at the northern lights. I was maybe 6 or 7
years old. The display filled the whole sky with undulating draperies
of glorious colors. It was so bright, you could easily read a book by
its light.

Jim FisherJimFisherHome@att.netnorthernlights1https://sites.google.com/feeds/content/site/holyhugs/74682676090832253692012-02-25T02:39:26.581Z2012-02-25T02:39:26.586Z2012-02-25T02:39:26.553ZGod in a Box

I love my brain. I love my ability to
reason, to dissect, to deconstruct, to reassemble. I survive in this
world because I have an innate ability to assign attributes to
things, to classify them, to put them into neat little packages of
understanding, into drawers of discernment.

But, Jesus is asking me to take Him out
of the file drawer and get to know Him directly. His Holy Spirit is
asking me to take Her out of my head and let Her live, abide, set up
a tent, take up residence ... in my heart.

The
Saturday before Gloria died, she checked herself out of the hospital
against medical advice to attend her first granddaughter's wedding. As
her husband, Terry, was wheeling her into the sanctuary, she stopped him
and said, "This is my grandbaby's wedding. I'm walking!"

I have a very close friend whose mother, Gloria, suffered from a
chronic illness for many years. About a year before Gloria died, I woke
up abruptly at 3 AM to discover a pool of poetic fragments swirling
around in my head. I opened my laptop and started recording
what I was hearing in a whirlwind of creativity that my fingers
struggled to keep up with. It was one of those inspired moments that
writers dream of yet seldom experience. There were many tears shed
during the writing of this poem ... and many since ... for it braided my own near-death
experience as a 20-something in with my deep love for a dear friend who has
struggled with her faith in what lies beyond this life.

Jim FisherJimFisherHome@att.netthecornertable1https://sites.google.com/feeds/content/site/holyhugs/75843113027041101172011-11-30T15:49:51.357Z2011-11-30T15:49:51.367Z2011-11-30T15:49:51.344ZPoverty Up Close

I used to only view
poverty from a distance. From that vantage point, I would see the
corrugated tin roof on a shelter made from scavenged scraps of wood
and I would think "shack."

Jim FisherJimFisherHome@att.netpovertyupclose1https://sites.google.com/feeds/content/site/holyhugs/24983186017863946272011-10-08T01:43:40.443Z2011-10-08T01:43:40.445Z2011-10-08T01:43:40.410ZFaith Into the Water

My name is Hashsha, son of Kadosh, descendant of Levi. Earlier this morning I sat in awe
on a bluff overlooking the Jordan river at flood stage. It is the
time of the barley harvest, and the melting snows on Mount Hermon
are filling this valley with a torrent of icy turbulence.

The gate was of wrought iron, strong
and sturdy, skillfully forged with pleasant curves and adornments.
Not gaudy, flashy or ornate, but tall, elegant and graceful. The
hinges were well oiled and made only the slightest noise as she
opened the gate. With a curtsy, a bow, and a playfully overplayed
sweep of her hand, she invited me to enter along a cushiony
pine-needle-covered path into her garden.

Jim FisherJimFisherHome@att.netthegarden1https://sites.google.com/feeds/content/site/holyhugs/30418269233311683552011-05-30T11:59:25.112Z2011-05-30T12:00:07.569Z2011-05-30T12:00:07.446ZAre You a Christian?

A woman sits next to me on an airplane.
I have my laptop open and am reading blogs and posting responses on
various Christian websites. She catches sight of a word or two.
During a moment of reflection and composition while I gaze
glassy-eyed at the overhead “call” button, her curiosity is
piqued.

Come with me back in time. Come back
about 2,000 years. Straddle the centuries and sit with me here on the
side of the hill of the crucifixion. Watch with me as the sun sets on
Friday evening after having witnessed the events of the last 24
hours. Sit beside me here on this hill called Golgotha.

I gave my love freely,
transparently, intimately to the man I was once in love with. I
offered it to his lips as a delicious refreshing nectar trusting
that the love I gave would be the love I would receive. I trusted
that my love for him and him alone would flow freely back to me with
the same assurance of fidelity and oneness.

Jim FisherJimFisherHome@att.netrefilling1https://sites.google.com/feeds/content/site/holyhugs/2073205184646453842011-02-14T13:19:42.208Z2011-02-14T13:20:59.462Z2011-02-14T13:20:59.441ZDream House

There is a place at the center of my
soul, a holy place, where the Spirit of God chooses to make Her home.
She is my counselor, my interior designer, my housekeeper. But this was not always the case. There was a season in my life when
I did not welcome Her. I did not welcome God nor His son Jesus
either. The center of my soul was occupied by my busyness, my
arrogance, my pride. The place was a mess, actually. The center of my soul contained little more than
just ... well, me ... and my stuff.

What a beautiful, holistic Hebrew
word! Along with its root,
it occurs over 400 times in the Old Testament. It is a word which
gets torn apart in our worldview into what we call work, worship,
service, and ministry. In our mind these four are separate, distinct.
In the ancient Hebrew mind, they are all one in the same.

I suspect that you have figured out
by now that I love you. I also suspect that you are discovering that
this is an uncommon love. It is not the love that binds two people
together in marriage. It is also not an occasional “let's do lunch”
kind of love. No, my friend. This is an enduring love which pairs two
spirits dancing to the music that God plays through our hearts and
into the hearts of others.

Jim FisherJimFisherHome@att.netcovenantfriends2https://sites.google.com/feeds/content/site/holyhugs/36434422446775599542010-12-22T14:02:04.414Z2010-12-22T14:04:09.008Z2010-12-22T14:04:08.990ZCan I Get Back to You on That?

Luke is sitting in a garden on a
hill outside Jerusalem with Mary, the mother of Jesus on a warm
afternoon long past the death of Christ and the events of Pentecost.
Mary's thick silver hair shows only remnant strands of the rich black
locks that once adorned her head. It is mid-summer A.D. 55. The
apostle Paul has recently been arrested and escorted to prison in
Caesarea. Luke, Paul's physician and traveling companion, is taking
this opportunistic break in his travels to hang out with Mary and the
others who knew Jesus.

Christmas for me has always been a time of looking up.
Looking up to the stars on a crisp clear winter night,
Searching for angels dancing behind the veil of the northern lights.
Raising my voice in song to a God in heaven
Who loves to hear me sing his praises,
Who loves to hear the thanksgivings of my heart.More